Oh, the old farm-house, down beside the valley stream,
Where in childhood so oft I have play’d,
Ere sorrow had clouded my heart’s early dream,
Or life’s purest joys had decay’d;
How well I remember the vine-cover’d roof,
And the rose-bushes clustering nigh,
And the tall, stately poplar-trees standing aloof,
Whose tops seem’d to reach to the sky,
Oh! the old farm-house, my childhood’s happy home.
Oh, the old farm-house, how I’ve sported round its hearth
With my sisters and brothers so dear;
How oft has it rung with our innocent mirth,
And hallow’d our soft evening-prayer;
But the old farm-house now is bowing to decay,
Its stones like dead friends lie apart;
But its dear, cherish’d image shall ne’er fade away
From affection’s domain in my heart.
Oh! the old farm-house, my childhood’s happy home.